


Private Business

by Chickenpets



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Art, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Smutlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:41:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27192565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chickenpets/pseuds/Chickenpets
Summary: A ghostly footstep was the herald, as always. The incongruous shift of a trainer against stone, though there was no one to be seen.“We cannot keep doing this,” Severus said, and there was an answering huff of laughter and then the whisper of cloth pulled from shoulders.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 56
Kudos: 344





	Private Business

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aldergroves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aldergroves/gifts).



> A gift for Aldergroves aka Lee for being my 5000th comment! Thank you everyone for all your support.

A ghostly footstep was the herald, as always. The incongruous shift of a trainer against stone, though there was no one to be seen. 

“We cannot keep doing this,” Severus said, and there was an answering huff of laughter and then the whisper of cloth pulled from shoulders. 

“For a spy you’re really not that good at lying,” Harry said, appearing out of thin air, his invisibility cloak cascading from his hand like water.

“It’s not a lie,” Severus answered quietly, casting his eyes to the bookshelves to keep from looking at him, though he wasn’t sure why he was bothering. It had been weeks - maybe months, by then - since this madness had begun. “It’s the truth, as you well know.”

“Do I?” Harry moved further into the room, tossing his cloak over the back of Severus’ chair to free his hands. “Who’s gonna stop it, then? You?” He raised an impish eyebrow, daring him to say no, just like he always did. But Severus didn’t say no, and he didn’t back away as Harry stepped close enough to touch him, either. Because he knew that Harry’s touch would feel good, and it did feel good. Poisonously, intoxicatingly good - the warm, firm, confident press of his fingers as they mapped the body beneath his robes, skating gently over the scars Nagini had torn into him, and over the protruding collarbones and ribs his long convalescence had brought into awful prominence. Harry’s hands did not shy away from either, hadn’t shied away even the first time, and Severus, helpless, was already kissing him before an answer to Harry’s challenge could so much as solidify in his mind. 

_ Who’s gonna stop it, then?  _

Minerva, that was who. Minerva would stop it in a heartbeat if she ever found out. Or the Minister. Or the Weasleys. Or Hagrid or the Wizengamot or Dumbledore's bloody ghost. There wasn’t a soul on earth that would allow what was happening between them. But no one knew, and Harry Potter had never given a single fuck what anyone else allowed, in any case. 

Not before the war, and not during, and not now that it was done.

Not ever.

Severus backed him up against the edge of his desk and sat him on it, sinking both hands into his hair to hold him steady. The taste of his mouth was familiar by that time, but somehow still so incredibly forbidden that it made Severus almost dizzy, like all the blood was draining from his brain. And maybe it was - the vital stuff of life retreating with dual goals of preparing his body to get what it wanted, and preventing his mind from fully feeling the excruciating guilt that no one but Harry Potter had ever managed to inspire in him. 

“You’re thinking,” Harry murmured against his mouth, fisting one hand in the front of his robes to keep him from pulling back. “Stop it.”

“It’s hard not to think when you’re still in your uniform,” Severus retorted, and there was that little chuckle again. Amazing that he found this _funny._ A man nearing forty laying into an eighteen year old boy that way. Tearing him open on the floor of the school he managed, flaying him alive on his sheets, peeling him apart in a dozen shameless ways. It was despicable. Deeply, deeply despicable. But Harry - Merlin, he drank it down like he’d wanted it for ages. Harry arched, and twisted, and shook, and raked his nails down Severus’ shoulders. He begged and poured praise - demanding - _pleading_ for more of Severus’ hands - his mouth - his body and words and focus and attention - just everything and anything he had to give _._

Harry was a lover,  _ his  _ lover, who by some stroke of cosmic irony happened to be his student, and the son of his greatest friend and pettiest enemy. Severus’ lover, and student, and savior, and obsession, and purpose, a generation apart. Gorgeous, and shattered, and willing. No, more than willing.

Desperate.

“So take it off me,” Harry breathed, hooking his legs around Severus’ waist to pull him closer. _ “Headmaster.” _

_ “Fiend,”  _ Severus hissed, kissing him again, bearing him down onto his back. “I  _ despise _ you.”

“Tell it to the devil,” Harry answered, lifting his hips for his trousers to be dragged down and out of the way. “If you can find him.” 

Severus wasn’t going to tell it to anyone, of course. Not the devil, and not God, and not anyone else. He wasn’t going to tell, and no one was going to stop it, because no one was ever going to find out. Severus had learned too well how to keep awful secrets, and if he was a poor liar, it was only to Harry. Harry, who’d seen straight through his sneering insults to the pitiful longing underneath, and still did every time they were together. Harry, who’d come to his office on Halloween night with a bottle of claret and an insufferable half-smile and an entreaty to play a game of cards, and had ended up on his knees with Severus’ cock in his mouth. Harry, who’d  _ looked up at him.  _ Looked right into his eyes like he was absolutely, one-hundred-percent aware of what he was doing, and who he was doing it to, and had no reservations at all. Harry Potter, obviously mad as a hatter, climbing into his lap to kiss him on the mouth when he was done, and tugging Severus’ hand between his legs, and whispering,  _ ‘you’re not going to leave me like this, are you?’ _

Severus hadn’t left him like that. Severus had teased an orgasm out of him with his hand, and swallowed the noise he made, and then fucked him face down on his desk. And then two days later he’d had him in his quarters, too. In his bed, in fact, face-up and stripped bare, exposing his war-scarred skin to the light of a low fire. He was beautiful, and Severus was frankly terrified, but in the days and weeks that followed, he’d realized by slow degrees that with Albus and the Dark Lord both in their graves, no one at all was keeping tabs on Harry Potter anymore. No one was watching him, or tracking him, or looking out for him. No one but Severus, and if Severus happened to be watching him very closely while he spread his legs, and bent over, and sprawled out on his bed like a fucking sacrifice, that was no one's business but his own. And if Severus resolutely ignored him all day as he went about his business keeping that godforsaken school running, and then listened with rapt attention while he cursed and moaned and said his name in the middle of the night... that was his own business, too.

His and Harry’s, anyway.

Private.

  
  



End file.
